first light:
the old mariner can sense it
because of hundreds of morning watches
stood on steel-decked bridges
beginning at 0345 when he announced “I have the watch and the con”
until 0730 when the watch relief showed up early
so the old mariner and his watch staff could eat breakfast
before officers call, quarters, and colors.

first light would vary, of course:
latitude and longitude have a bearing on such things
as well as weather
but
it comes as sure as day follows night
because
it is the harbinger of the change,
from. night to day.

first light comes subtly:
a new hand would not realize it was upon him
until it had flushed the sea
with grays or blues depending on the weather
while the stars vanished;
then it was too late
to shoot stars (in good weather)
but
the mariner would know,
have the quartermaster break out the sextant,
so the two could
stand on the bridge wing, port or starboard,
depending on the course, of course;
the mariner would shoot the stars
while the quartermaster logged the angles;
afterward, the two would huddle,
place the logged data into the forms
to arrive at the point where they really were
unless, of course,
the navigator deigned to wake up early
to shoot the stars himself.

the watch was accompanied by the aroma
of coffee, eggs, and bacon
wafting up from the mess decks
as  cooks and mess cooks had also risen early
to fix the morning mess
(which is why the old mariner found ways
to spend his time on the starboard bridge wing,
four decks above the galley);
standing there in the dark
with millions of stars and planets suffusing the sky;
he senses first light coming just before
the hint of change seeps onto the eastern horizon:
his world slowly waxes from dim to shades of grey,
about three-quarters of an hour before the orange ball
emerges from the eastern horizon
officially claiming sunrise: night for day.

Now five miles inland years later,
the mariner, now emeritus only,
will rise early,
not to stand the watch
but
perhaps because age heeds nature’s call
or
he just doesn’t sleep well after 0400 —
old habits of morning watches on the bridge —
he stands in the front room looking east,
drinking his coffee from his mug in the morning dark
as has been his habit for as long as he can remember;
he senses first light again,
watches the first inkling of grey
slink into the black of night;

after all, first light is still his favorite moment of the day.